"tolls" poems
Ah vastness of pines, murmur of waves breaking,
slow play of lights, solitary bell,
twilight falling in your eyes, toy doll,
earth-shell, in whom the earth sings!
In you the rivers sing and my soul flees in them
as you desire, and you send it where you will.
Aim my road on your bow of hope
and in a frenzy I will flee my flock of arrows.
On all sides I see your waist of fog,
and your silence hunts down my afflicted hours;
my kisses anchor, and my moist desire nests
in your arms of transparent stone.
Ah your mysterious voice that love tolls and darkens
in the resonant and dying evening!
Thus in the deep hours I have seen, over the fields,
the ears of wheat tolling in the mouth of the wind
31.6k
She’s got scars on her legs,
calls them battle wounds,
I’ve got the music up way to loud,
so loud we can’t hear our thoughts,
city lights provide the background,
as we lose control and make love,
doing anything to feel anything,
because it’s 2018 and it feels like no one gives a fck,
so we fck,
and after it's said and done she says,
“I don’t usually do this.”,
yeah well we often do things we don’t usually do,
no road home and no rules,
no control no lines no tolls,
keep knocking and you can come in,
but no one’s home,
what’s going on up there,
how can you be so terrifyingly beautiful,
why are you armed with such a stare,
I know you’re a weapon but what do you use it for,
armed to the teeth no bark all bite,
I say she’s a unicorn she says she’s a vampire,
and I don’t fall in love but with this one I just might,
because we better express ourselves before we expire,
got burned from her fire,
but it hurt so good,
like those cuts that we inflicted onto each other,
feeling erratic I guess blame it on the mood,
always ready to talk about anything except the truth,
she says she only lied to me once,
and that was about not liking Ethiopian food,
and I pretend to care but honestly don’t know if I give a fck,
what the fck,
I’m drunk,
and I don’t usually drink,
but I often do things I don’t usually do,
and I don’t mean to be rude,
but I’m not sure I love you,
because even if I did,
I’m not sure it’d matter to you so what’s the use,
you want the truth,
the truth is we’re born alone and we die alone,
and in the middle is where I found you,
and for a moment this runaway thought he'd found a home,
and I wanted us to stay forever in that moment,
laying there naked in each other’s arms,
but you were insecure and covered yourself back up,
because you didn’t want me to see your scars,
you’ve got scars on her legs,
calls them battle wounds,
I’ve got the music up way to loud,
so loud we can’t hear our thoughts,
city lights provide the background,
as we lose control and make love,
doing anything to feel anything,
because it’s 2018 and it feels like no one gives a fck...
∆ LaLux ∆
Melbourne, Australia
October 2018
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC
Go ahead **** my Vibe
Whip swings side to side
To your middle I will dive
Penetrate..take a ride
DOM..instruct you what to do
Vibrate you with my tool
Head spins as we *****
Wetness in you starts to drool
Submissive are many souls
Dominate fill their holes
Spanking one of many tolls
Hand print red starts to glow
***** love a part of me
Its sweet embrace my destiny
******* Tantric for eternity
Leave you laying blissfully..
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
I.
Hear the sledges with the bells—
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they ****** ****** ******
In their icy air of night!
While the stars, that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
II.
Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten golden-notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
III.
Hear the loud alarum bells—
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now—now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the ***** of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells—
Of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
IV.
Hear the tolling of the bells—
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people—ah, the people—
They that dwell up in the steeple.
All alone,
And who toiling, toiling, toiling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone—
They are neither man nor woman—
They are neither brute nor human—
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry ***** swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells—
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
10.5k
I.
I'm writing to tell you that I've spoken with your sister.
She tells me everything these days, though recently I've marked the way her voice conceals a quiet shame; rage in casual tones, and fear in quiet whispers.
I haven't kissed her in quite some time.
She's thinking of you.
II.
I'm sorry that I haven't written sooner. This fasting saps volition from my fingers, and the hot smell of ozone still lingers in the air.
But everywhere I see you on the news.
Has Ramadan been hard for you this year? I'm looking forward to hearing from you. I want to know that you are near once more. Please write.
III.
I saw an action flick today, and something of you in the way the heroine roared and flipped her hair just before letting a rocket fly.
I thought that I would die of suspense until the moment when the hero rose from the rubble to stand above his foes.
Crows circled. Credits rolled.
IV.
Thunder tolls. The atmosphere crackles and bursts. It's early yet, and not even my worst. My warring hands will never give you peace. An endless war-song issues from my lips.
You are not brave enough, dear girl, to resist destruction by my hand. The bomb blessed by my lips is indifferent, darling boy.
I will consume the gardens planted with your seeds.
V.
Bismillah, arrahman, arraheem.
VI.
Blessed is he who cries out for peace.
The Lord sees him and sees that he is good.
Blessed is she who dines before the sunrise and loses her life at noon, still clad in vestments of her childhood.
VII.
Eid Mubarak, and peace be with you every year. I've yet to hear from you.
I saw your sister again today. Whatever tinged her voice still holds her.
She said she hasn't written.
It matters who writes, so write a love-letter, I told her.
She's thinking of you.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 11:55 PM UTC
Gaunt in gloom,
The pale stars their torches,
Enshrouded, wave.
Ghostfires from heaven's far verges faint illume,
Arches on soaring arches,
Night's sindark nave.
Seraphim,
The lost hosts awaken
To service till
In moonless gloom each lapses muted, dim,
Raised when she has and shaken
Her thurible.
And long and loud,
To night's nave upsoaring,
A starknell tolls
As the bleak incense surges, cloud on cloud,
Voidward from the adoring
Waste of souls.
7.2k
I remember the restaurant,
The one Grandpa
Had brought us to –
Window panes in patriotism
And pancakes atop, “America,”
The world revolved,
“America,”
And how we’d made it
“Home” –
So came the syrup, destiny
And fervor caked powder plate.
He knew of my toil, ills, and tolls
Pandered atop horizons
Hindered Mao and red
As we sat near dawn over coffee
And something south of
Conspiracy – opposite my dream
And collusion to **** said
Destiny,
But it was still, “his
America,” not mine and he’d
Sleep when I wouldn’t.
So it pained me, resonant a twitch
Within this small inch of
Remnant family, to tell him,
“We’re going back,
We’re leaving tomorrow,”
And, “I don’t know when I’ll be
Home,” gramps,
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be home,”
And he’d say prior ever’d silent –
“Good luck sleeping on that one,
Son,” I just know he would.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 9:39 AM UTC
Sprang forth with no branches or leaves. Small roots.
Bore mangoes, papayas,guava and bananas. Hybrid, mid limb grafting.
The trunk is a figment but it stands non less. You see
my family tree never was and always will be.
A roadside shade with low hanging fruit.
Was never planted.It was a deposit from the bowels of an exotic bird
of the jungles that sampled at leisure the offerings of the rain forests.
The Hardtack and marmalade came on ships with the kings business
Mixed with the Nigerian Fu-Fu ,the Aztec maize the Mayan legumes.
and all points of the compass.
Old Joe Denegri, The Blancaneaux , The Cattouse, The Melado, The Pinks
The Flowers,The Orozco and more. And boundless from the ***** of opportunity.
Piecemeal and untethered. But it is the tree that I must cling to.
However rough the bark.
The sap runs heavy and slow in the humid Belizean heat.To meet the earth.
Cool breezes blow a haunting disharmony. A sweet unity in chaos.
The soil is rich,pungent and forgiving. Soon, A bell tolls in the distance.
The Sea mists my dreams.
A stairway of coconut fronds to azure skies.
Nighttime smells like creation.
The still slackened pace.
The small rat race.
Tempest in a teapot.
Urban-rural.
Coolie gal.
Creole boy.
New Chinese.
Old African.
Ubiquitous Espania.
Garinagu. Mosquito coast.
Children of Mennon.
Old Basque faces.
Things we call races left with small traces
of what?
My tree, her tree, histree.
I am you and you are me.
I see me in your face and you see me.
We are and will continue to be.
Blended.
a hybrid. An orchid wild.
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 5:02 AM UTC
I sit here with so many thoughts going thru my head
I just want to close my eyes and go to bed.
How many times have you felt the pressures taking its toll?
And you want something concrete that you can hold.
You daydream of the way you would like things to be
But you come back to the realities
You know that you must strive to achieve your goals
And not let anything stand in your way
But then you leave it for another day.
Procrastination is always there,
And with your thoughts the space it will share.
You say “leave it for tomorrow and a brand new day”
But tomorrow comes and it’s washed away.
These are the pressures that are taking its tolls
When you lose your control.
Don’t leave off for tomorrow what you can do today
With procrastination there’s a heavy price to pay
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 8:00 PM UTC
A bell tolls
Friends join in to walk
With me to the end of the path
Carrying on heavy shoulders,
All that last journey, and
All that was not said
And all that silences
Which will echo forever in our hearts.
Some where
Silence waits for the desert spaces
To speak up
And break our lives
Into small grains of sand
Which pours within the Hour Glass
Of our togetherness
Some where - a blast-off to distant stars
In the cloud of dust
In the drum beats of
Shiva's Tandav* dance.
Some where, Love alone
Worships the intensity of the togetherness
Or
Truthfulness of belongingness.
Or
Remains
A mute spectator to the Tandav* of emotions
Silence some time does sound
In, Our lives
And
A bell tolls forever
Calling in lost soul
Or soul mates
To be in the valley of lost flower stars.
_____________________________
Tandav is the eternal dance of Lord Shiva, a dance of destruction as well as creation...
Sep 26, 2010
Sep 26, 2010 at 10:11 AM UTC
The same song looping over and over…
The same suicidal thoughts torturing my sanity…
Repeats accruing on infinite piles of ruble,
Vigorously fighting these thoughts,
These demons of mentality,
A constant cartwheel of emotion…
Always racing…
Not ceasing for a mere second…
Forcing the pill in my mouth,
And then another,
And another…
The only mental painkiller is death…
I feel numb,
Darkness seeps into my vision…
Blurring reality…
The Pain is going away…
I feel alive as I feel myself die…
Emergency Medical Squads break the door down…
I sit there,
Watching them cycle electricity into my body as I blindly stare,
Eyes not moving,
Weak,
You never came.
I want to tell you I love you until it becomes white noise…
Always knowing I love you,
Never doubting yourself again…
I want to make love until we are one…
My body and yours…
Sharing the night, and day…
Filling senses with pleasure and love…
I want to hold you until you are weightless…
A feather in my arms…
Carry you up to a safe place on a dark night…
I want to love you forever…
I want to love you till stone itself evaporates into the air as it boils underneath the red giant sun…
I want to love you when the Universe rebirths or collapses…
I want to love you when the bell tolls,
The bell does not mark the end,
It will never end,
I will love you always,
Forever,
Not stopping even for a supernova…
No matter how lovely, how vivid, how colorful the painting…
Toxic fumes are given off,
The closer you look the more cracks and flaws you’ll find…
No matter how soft the wood, how elaborate the carving,
You can’t even begin to feel all the splinters…
All the cuts,
The closer you get the deeper the grooves…
This rusty drain has grown clogged of emotion and dust…
Wonderful you say…
But that is just for now,
Today.
My past is dark, dead, rotten,
Who knows if the future will be any different.
Today I have a moment of peace,
You,
A bright blue gem shining in the darkness,
So pure it becomes it’s own light-source,
Echoing beauty throughout the blackness,
Illuminating me,
True Commitment,
Warm and sweet Love,
Unquestionable Trust,
Seraphic Beauty,
Everything I need…
I sit here questioning these words…
Thinking of the purest way to put them,
But emotion is not pure,
It’s ***** rough, and raged,
But when I talk to you that emotion turns into something different,
It turns into satisfying warmth that runs through my body…
The past evaporates into the air,
Dispersing and losing its importance,
You are my future,
Not the past.
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 2:03 PM UTC
I sit here with so many thoughts going thru my head
I just want to close my eyes and go to bed.
How many times have you felt the pressures taking its toll?
And you want something concrete that you can hold.
You daydream of the way you would like things to be
But you come back to the realities
You know that you must strive to achieve your goals
And not let anything stand in your way
But then you leave it for another day.
Procrastination is always there,
And with your thoughts the space it will share.
You say “leave it for tomorrow and a brand new day”
But tomorrow comes and it’s washed away.
These are the pressures that are taking its tolls
When you lose your control.
Don’t leave off for tomorrow what you can do today
With procrastination there’s a heavy price to pay
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 8:00 PM UTC
Cold stone statues of all shapes and sizes
Chilled to the moss covered bone
Standing ***** markers of time
Weather worn words, passages of years
A place of disasters, heartbreak and crime
All gathered there, forgotten by time
As the trees bend to the seasons
And the passing of years
A lone figure dressed in black
Stands above an unnamed gravestone
Reflecting on past memories
Of someone he had known.
Brown wet clinging clay lies
Heaped by the side of a black hollow
Waiting for another invited guest
As the bell tolls, mournfully
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC
Scrapers will no longer scrape.
Fighters soon to lose the short fight.
Pilots are forced to surrender control.
Snakes on a plane will bank into a roll,
a scene that really no longer is scenic.
Leaders still read while getting a scare.
Huge landmarks that I swear were once there,
bridges in shortage are counting the tolls.
Dust that eventually will never be settled,
liquid support that used to be metal,
big bad crude that never was good—
things impossible suddenly could.
Answers quickly try to be drummed.
Future conflicts guaranteed to be won,
particles blocking our UV death sun,
days become decades and turkey is done.
Brave individuals are no longer bold.
Families’ histories are quite often told,
a baby’s bottle empty with no one to hold.
Government figures tilted but somehow sold
parades in protest with a circus in town.
A tiger got out, but why can’t he growl?
Seems that the cat’s got somebody’s tongue.
Another channel covers son after son,
numbers mounting, but not the right ones.
Cabbies still nose their thumb after thumb,
training centers destroyed one after one.
We should’ve just played “Drop the **** bomb!”
Fear is good, and of course good is feared;
it’s the only thing that drives us way over here.
Just like the Bible, it’s mostly made up.
The supersonic jet has just hit a rut.
The dirtiest of bombs versus our Smith and Wesson.
“Come on gang, why would you even question?”
Like death and taxes—there’s none that’s more sure,
but then there’s the free upcoming history lesson.
“Ain’t gonna do it” acting just like his pop.
This rancher really means it when tossing the slop.
“Still can’t find him—he’s with boys in Brazil.”
What’ve they done lately to lighten the till?
It’s time for the Allies to storm up this hill.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:09 PM UTC
It rains dogs and cats outside And I see that clearly on our windows' glass panes ... It's a different Winter Inside those ugly tents of shame .................... It's very cold anywhere and everywhere Simply because that's the way with it ........................ All kids stayed inside their tents Just to die as a cause of that cold weather .......................... Storm Huda , some days ago , brought everything That was extremely bad and ugly .................. Some kids got perished inside Their ugly and cold tents ..................... In Winter and only in cold Winters , Death tolls might increase rapidly anytime ................ _______________________________________________________________
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 1:11 PM UTC
Aladdin and Jasmine
aren't the only ones
to experience a whole new world,
I have begun.
And it's so refreshing,
this time I won't come undone
Somewhat of a blessing
and tremendous fun.
You're a breeze to the soul,
when it's had a harsh summer.
Cooling the affects of my heart's tolls,
like my favorite November.
I hope you're someone I'm glad to remember,
Regardless I'm sure you'll join the club of my heart
as an exclusive member.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
Your thunders roll,
The twin sets clash and tolls.
Unpleasant sounds toss and wake.
Even the whole earth seems to shake.
Why did this happen here?
What caused this conflict to begin here?
All knows that the gods have feuded and side.
Only wanting nothing more than status pride.
Rules debated and time standing come yet.
For these greedy, merciless gods take what they can get.
There will be a law said,
To avoid the call of family banishéd.
But what about you?
When tis your cue?
To speak freely against the gods
And demand fairness firm and strong as goldenrod?
Resist blindly following their pleas.
Because then the conflict will never ease.
Do not forever be misguided.
For you yourself is already undecided.
Choose well and wise.
The gods will soon see your open eyes.
Even if the thunders roar,
Your choice will be even more.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 6:59 PM UTC
Not to string you along, my dear
but we cannot simply cut ties with the past
even the inconsequential have its consequences
You might outlive regret, but that doesn't mean all is forgiven
Sep 12, 2021
Sep 12, 2021 at 9:46 AM UTC
Heat
Calcification
Incalescence
Swelter
Suffocation
Arctic circle above 32 degrees Fahrenheit in December
Leaking lakes of Methane gas in Siberia
Scientific data to price
Changing 2 degrees
has caused mass extinction
Melting glaciers
Oceans 7 centimeters higher
Drought in the Amazon
Changes in migration
Disruption in pollination
Heatwaves:
high death tolls
Decreased plant growth
Zika in Florida
Ignorance from the government
Refusal of proof
Nonbelievers in the White House
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 12:12 PM UTC
She’s a little bit cooler than me, I like that
A little more dangerous.. a bit edgy in fact
Marked with black ink, like poem in calligraphy
A canvas of expression, a work of true beauty
She brings a sense of safety, that comfort feeling of home
And I feel her warmth around me, no matter how far we roam
Just as lost as I am, and exhausted from the journey
Her eyes pointed downward, her shoes worn and *****
Behind her are the years, the ones that she has spent
And the love that she will need, well it must be heaven sent
Paying her tolls as I have, so many times before
Her scars will tell a story, but her eyes say so much more
Our paths have come together and gone apart at times
And while she’s gone I sit here and scribble down these rhymes
I see her in the distance, she’s standing all alone
A girl who’s not afraid to be left out on her own
And like a thief in darkness, she stole my heart so tender
And meeting her again, I know that its still with her
-AJT
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC
No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend’s were.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
3.4k
*Superimposing marks
On red, swollen lips
Bit and bled from chattering teeth
That tolls nervous as a cuckoo clock chirps.
A bumpy road with
Spidered cracks
Like a well dried jerky strip
Wrinkled, and tough.
Bit and chewed
With no bones underneath
And no guts to go forward.
Warning skies
Of red in the morning.
And thunderstorming nights
That flash with lighting so intense
You'd think an old-age photo party was commenced way up high.
And rain so furious
You'd think the clouds were tearing themselves to pieces.*
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As a cloud,
I think I should add
That we aren't all fluffy and white
Nor scary and dark.
Our seasons do not come easily
For we undergo much
To make it "rain."
And even more to keep it calm.
Thunder is not a weathering crash,
It is yelling from another room.
And the lightning flash,
rage,
That leads to liquid pain.
The hard pressed wind that tosses your hair
Are witheld screams
until tolerance level reaches maximum,
And snaps. Like that old willow's trunk,
Wrenched from the earth,
Because the sky is powerful
And we are only along for the ride.
But, there is sunshine that warms our tops
While the bottoms are in shadow,
wrought in darkness that writhe along uneven surfaces.
But, there is moonlight that makes us gleam,
Like silver was sewn into sides.
But she is not always there,
And as her light fades
So
Do
We.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 1:37 AM UTC
Low and wide
against the tide
A partisan -
a part of him
un - fascistionable
Poppa's boat -
- Pablo's mujer
Pilar -
for us her story
well told
- For whom
the bell tolls.
r ~ 10/19/14
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 11:18 AM UTC
An aqua-marine dragonfly
hovers in the clarified
light of dusk,
I walk slowly
the risen earth pathway
through the vibrant
green fields
on the outskirts
of the village.
A bell tolls once,
arresting in silence
the moment of foot-fall,
making real
the careful route
along the trodden path
to my house.
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 9:55 AM UTC
Plastic plates bowls and cups
loaded on recycling trucks.
You've had your party thrown it away,
Less to wash up at the end of the day.
But few fall out they blow in winds,
Escape the grasp of the recycling bin.
Not all bags are renewable plastic,
Less strong now not so fantastic.
So write a note for a new tote,
Handles far stronger less likely broke.
It's not our problem it's goods we buy,
There wrapped and packaged to the shoppers eye.
But when the seas are less serene
Choked on plastics and polystyrene.
Death tolls rise numbers of sea life plummet,
Dont ya think its time we do summit?
To a turtle or whale a tasty dish,
To dine upon the jellyfish.
Not a bag for life that passes by,
That binds them to starvation before they die.
So the seas bob in colour of plastic pollution.
Times running out what to be a solution?
Its high time we started a clean up revolution!
To use less packaging to educate all.
Before the tides continue to rise and we loose them all.
The ice caps are melting at an alarming rate,
How long before for all it's too late.
Eco systems absorb UV,
cool the world for nature to be.
Polar life need ice to remain,
In cooler climates to sustain.
But as they melt and tides continue to rise,
Am losing hope for their demise.
Leave the jungles and forrests for self restoration,
Less fossil fuels and deforestation.
The trees keep falling from constant felling,
With palm oil growing; plantations swelling.
Our orange ancestors the orangutan,
Has been their homes since the jungles began.
To break life cycles whole eco systems,
It's time to change the world with our wit and wisdom.
Else what do we leave to the future generations,
Man on earth just viral abominations.
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 11:48 AM UTC